


The Captain's Death Day

by betterprepared



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 07:35:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19102597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betterprepared/pseuds/betterprepared
Summary: A telling of the Captain's last minutes of life and first minutes of death.As it turns out, there are worse things than being a homosexual soldier in the 1940's after all.





	The Captain's Death Day

**Author's Note:**

> Though Ghosts is a comedy and tends to stay on the light-hearted side, I'm very interested in the backstory of the Captain - being LGBT in 1940's England was a very dangerous position to be in.
> 
> There's no violence or hate-crimes involved in the below, but there is period-typical homophobia. 
> 
> Hope I do the team proud, they've been inspiring me for a decade and I love 'em to bits.

The Captain pressed his face into the man’s neck for what would undoubtedly be the final time and breathed for a moment, savouring his final minutes of peace with the one person he was sure he would ever truly love. Peter smelled of sandalwood and sweat, cigarettes and sex – he smelled of Peter, and the Captain would give all he had to breathe in that scent for the rest of his life. 

“It’s rather nice not having quieten down, isn’t it?” Peter said nonchalantly, fingers lightly brushing the nape of the Captain’s neck, “I daresay we should try and get this God awful place to ourselves more often,” 

The Captain smiled despite himself, and spoke muffled words against the other man’s skin, “You really are crude sometimes”

Peter laughed softly, his chest vibrating against the Captain’s shoulder, “You weren’t complaining earlier,” 

“Oh now stop that,” the Captain said, propping himself up on one elbow to look Peter in the eyes. A beautiful shade of green, they gleamed up at him in amusement. 

“You love it when I tease, be honest,” he replied, a lopsided grin on his freckled face. 

The Captain pressed a thumb to the corner of his curved mouth. He was so beautiful, so, so beautiful, and the Captain drank in the sight as much as he could. There would be no doing this again. 

“Only when it’s you,” he admittedly softly, huffing a short laugh when Peter’s smile widened with pride.

The Captain leaned down and kissed it from his face, resting his forehead against the other man's. He tasted of tobacco and tea leaves, and as Peter’s breath hitched and he wrapped a hand around the Captain’s, he knew he would never regret anything more than what he was about to do. 

He pulled away, “We should probably head back downstairs,” he told Peter softly, as though speaking any louder would cause their little bubble of safety to shatter around their ears. 

“You’re right,” Peter sighed, smoothing down a stray bit of the Captain’s hair, “The others should be back from the dance soon, with a couple of broads with them I’m sure,”

The Captain pushed himself away as Peter rolled out of bed, “But what I wouldn’t give to stay in bed with you,” he continued, “It’s far and away my favourite place in this ghastly building,”

The Captain smiled at the comment, heart aching as he watched him stand, his warmth getting further away by the moment.

“Christ it’s bloody freezing,” Peter muttered, plucking his underwear from the floor and pulling it up his pale legs, “Next time we should remember to light the fire,” 

The Captain said nothing at that, stomach twisting as the dreadful truth sunk in further. He got to his feet and began to dress.

_There won’t be a next time._

“We should probably make the most of having such luxuries,” Peter chattered on, oblivious to his partner’s silence, “No doubt we’ll be shipped out again soon enough, it’s been months since Dunkirk now,” 

The Captain pulled on his trousers and bent to pick up his shirt. 

“I should think we’ll be transferred together again. No point in breaking up the unit now – we’ve become pretty damned good at working together I would say,” 

Peter shrugged on his uniform jacket and swiped for the cigarettes lying idly on the bedside table, “Even if Stevens is an absolute pillock, I’ve become quite fond of the blokes,”

The Captain hummed in agreement as he pulled on his own jacket and sat on the bed to put on his shoes. 

“I wonder how they’re enjoying the dance,” Peter pondered aloud, pulling a cigarette from his packet and balancing it precariously between his middle and forefinger, “I’ll be amazed if Fletcher manages to bring a girl home – the man dances like a chimpanzee,” 

The Captain huffed a laugh as he tied his laces, keeping his eyes low. If he were to look up, Peter would know for sure that something was wrong. He could always read the Captain like an open book, and now…well. Every bit of love he had ever held for Peter was rushing to the surface, pressing on his chest in a painful ache that made his throat clench. 

“When have you ever seen a chimpanzee dance?” he chided quietly as he pulled the last bow tight on his boot. He could almost hear the seconds ticking down to when this – this warmth, this comfort, this happiness he and Peter lived in – would pale to a simple memory. 

Peter shrugged, “I’ve got a pretty good idea of what it would look like,” he said, a laugh in his voice as he leaned against the faded green bedroom wall, unlit cigarette still dangling from his fingers. 

The Captain straightened himself and placed his hands on his knees, shoes laced. There was nothing else to do but tell him. Tell him.

“I’m going to take you to one of those dances someday,” Peter said softly, lazy grin forming on his face as he gazed at him from his position against the wall, “I think you’d look wonderful under all those fancy lights,” 

The Captain closed his eyes at Peter’s words, the fondness in his voice a twist in the Captain’s already aching chest. 

“I have something to tell you,” he said in a rush, raising his head to look at Peter. The words hung in the room, something that The Captain would no longer be able to take back.

Peter’s brow furrowed, “Is everything ok?” he asked gently, the concern clear in his tone as he placed his cigarette on the side.

“I-“ the Captain looked away, unable to form the words, certainly unable to face Peter when he said them. 

Peter pushed himself from the wall and began to cross over to the Captain. 

“Arthur, whatever it is-“

“I’m getting married,” 

The words cut through the air like a knife, stopping Peter dead in his tracks. The Captain felt sick. 

“You’re what?” Peter whispered.

The Captain’s eyes flickered to the soldier. Peter’s face had dropped in shock.

The Captain stood on shaking legs, swallowing against the dryness of his throat as he repeated, “Peter, I’m getting married. And I… we… we can’t do this anymore,” 

The second admission had Peter taking a step backwards as he stared dumbfounded at the Captain. 

“I don’t believe you,” he said hoarsely, beginning to shake his head, “This has got to be a joke,”

“I’m so sorry Peter,” the Captain could feel the great wave of emotion building, could hear it in his voice already, “I couldn’t bear to tell you-“

“To tell me that you’re- you’re getting married?!” the last word was an incredulous shout, Peter’s volume increasing rapidly as the fact sunk in, “There’s no way- there’s- there’s no way you’re doing this,” 

“Peter, I-“

“To who?!” Peter demanded an answer, “Who are you marrying?”

The Captain pressed his lips together, quelling the upset in his words, before speaking again, “Jennifer Knowles,”

 _“Jennifer Knowles?!”_ Peter repeated in utter disbelief. He let out high-pitched, twisted bark of laughter, turning to rake a hand through his hair, “The nurse from the _fucking village?!_ ” 

“She’s a very kind lady and we’ve spent a rather pleasant afternoon or two hiking in the fields-“

 _“You barely know her Arthur,”_ Peter cried, throwing his hand up as he spun around to face the Captain, “We’ve been in this sodding house for two months and you’ve been down to that village barely four times!”

“Her husband died at Dunkirk,” the Captain said, his own explanation sounding hollow, even to his own ears, “She is expecting his child and she needs someone to rely on-” 

“That doesn’t mean you have to marry her!” the other man exclaimed, voice raised and angry, but the desperation clear,

“It is the right thing to do-“ the Captain said softly, the statement sounding weak to even him.

“Let somebody else do the right goddamn thing!” Peter’s raised voice rang out across the room, “There are plenty of men in that village- plenty of men in this unit, _she can marry somebody else!”_

“Peter-“

“Have I been a game to you?” Peter asked quietly, his voice filled with a hurt that pained to hear. “This whole time? Some passing fling whilst you wait for some doting woman to turn up?” his voice picked up in volume as he continued, “Some fucking _gigolo_ who’ll suck your cock whilst you’re in the trenches?!” 

“Of course not!” the Captain interrupted desperately, taking steps towards the other man to comfort him as though it was his innate need to do so, “You were never a game-“

“Then why are you getting married to a woman you barely know?!” Peter cried, shoving the Captain’s reaching hand away from him and stumbling further backwards as his eyes began to shine with furious tears, “Did you forget that she doesn’t have a cock to stick with you every night?” he snarled, “Does she know that her fiancé is a closet queer?!”

"You have no idea-" 

"Why are you doing this to yourself?! To us?!" Peter interrupted angrily, "Because- what- you're sick of me? Is that it?! Because-" 

“BECAUSE PEOPLE ARE BEGINNING TO NOTICE!” the Captain cried, bringing the room to a deafening silence. 

His chest roared with pain from the stricken beating of his heart as he spoke again, every bit of anger and frustration and heartbreak being poured into his strained words, “Because I am pushing forty and I have NO wife and NO family. Because people are beginning to SUSPECT me Peter, they are beginning to wonder why I am never seen with a woman, and yet I am always- ALWAYS seen with you,”

“Who?” Peter spoke up defiantly, “Who is suspecting you-“

“EVERYBODY!” the Captain cried, “My parents, who ask when they’re to expect grandchildren in every letter they send; my superiors, who ensured my chambers were far away from the other men in the unit; and don’t- DON’T- act like you haven’t seen the others give each other those _fucking_ looks every time they see us together-“

“Of course I see them!” Peter yelled back, “But I don’t CARE, because I’m too in love with you to notice!”

The lump in the Captain’s throat caught at the admission, and he looked away. Though he felt the same – God, he felt the same – he couldn’t admit those words, not when he was so voluntarily walking away from him.

“I need to get some air,” he muttered, 

“Arthur,” Peter’s voice broke, “Please,”

“I’m sorry,” the Captain mumbled, too ashamed to look at Peter’s face for one last time as he shouldered past him, grabbing his cane and wrenching the door open with a shaking hand.

“No- wait- WAIT,” Peter demanded, advancing after him, “Arthur- WAIT,”

The Captain pressed his lips together, eyes shining with tears he would not let himself shed, as he strode to the main staircase. If he looked back, he didn’t think he would be able to hold back his emotions for much longer.

“How could you do this?” Peter’s hand caught the Captain’s shoulder and roughly spun him back to face him. Peter’s resolve had broken, his face an angry red, tears streaming from his eyes as he spoke, “After everything we’ve been through? We were HAPPY,”

“And how long do you think that would have lasted?” the Captain asked, voice raised with frustration and thick with tears, “What would ours lives have been like, eh? Did you think we’d get married? Have kids?” 

“Maybe,” Peter said through tears, “Maybe, yes,”

The Captain closed his eyes as if the words wounded, part in raw grief, part in utter frustration, “You’re so naïve,” 

“No I’m not,” Peter said steadfastly, “I love you, and that’s all that matters,”

“It is NOT all that matters,” the Captain snapped loudly, “You are living in a FANTASY Peter,” his words began to pick up speed as he spoke, the anger at the utter unfairness of the situation seeping into his words, “We would be ARRESTED. We would be discharged, we would be blacklisted, we would IMPRISONED,” his heart hammered rapidly in his ears as the words came, ferocious and unfiltered, “You know what they do to queers like us? They sentence us to hard labour for _life!_ ”

Tears dripped down Peter’s face as the Captain continued, unwavering in his painful words.

“Have you heard of hormone replacement sentencing, Peter!?” he yelled, voice cracking painfully, “Is that what you want? Having those damned injections-“

“Stop- I know what it is!” Peter cried, “But fuck- Jesus- I don’t care. This is worth it- we’re worth the risk-”

“It is not a risk- it is a CERTAINTY,” the Captain bellowed, rogue tears beginning to blur his vision, “Do you not understand that? It is a DEATHWISH!” 

The final punctuated word echoed across the room, a wrenching truth that even Peter couldn’t argue. He pressed his lips together, swallowing thickly through his tears, defeated.

The Captain’s heart burned with violent adrenaline. It hurt more than he ever thought it could, his chest twisting in a way the Captain knew for certain was not just in his head. 

In his despairing, pained thoughts, an ominous cloud of panic began to loom. 

“I need some air,” he muttered brokenly, roughly scrubbing at an eye with the palm of his hand as he stumbled backwards to turn, “I can’t- I can’t do this.”

“Arthur-“ Peter begged, _“Captain-“_

The Captain turned and tried to take a step but stumbled as his vision swam. A wave of nausea began to crest in his gut.

“Arthur?” Peter spoke again, his voice this time seeming miles away. Blood rushing in his ears, the Captain fumbled for the banister, body swaying as he struggled to right himself. 

“What’s wrong?” Peter said, “Arthur, what’s happening?”

The Captain open his mouth to reassure the man, but all he could manage was a laboured gasp as his throat began to clench. His chest was on fire. He couldn’t breathe.

Peter was on him barely a second after his legs gave way, scrambling to his knees to support the Captain’s body before he hit the floor. The clatter of the Captain’s cane hitting the varnished wood rang out into the air.

“Arthur can you hear me?” Peter asked in a fright, eyes flickering across the Captain’s features in an untethered panic as he supported the Captain’s upper body with shaking arms, “Speak to me, what’s wrong?”

The Captain gripped onto Peter’s thigh as he tried to speak, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he choked unintelligible words. 

“Oh my God,” Peter exclaimed hoarsely, utter horror filling his face as realisation hit him, “Oh my God,”

The Captain’s eyes bulged as he used his other hand to grip at his chest, fingernails digging into his uniform in a fruitless attempt to stem the pain. 

“Stay calm,” Peter instructed, sounding to the Captain now as though he were underwater, “Stay calm – I’m calling for an ambulance,” 

The Captain’s panic escalated to fever pitch as Peter lowered him to the hardwood floor. He batted pathetically for Peter’s arm, limbs too heavy, too numb with pain to firmly grip. _Don’t go,_ he tried to say, _Don’t leave me here._

“I’m coming back,” Peter sobbed harshly, pressing his hand against the Captain’s cheek. He always could read him like an open book. “I promise, I’m coming back. Just hold on,” 

Peter looked the Captain in the eyes a final time, the fear in his face wrenching the Captain’s gut as the other man pulled away and stood, before racing away down the stairs.

A horrible, broken thought shouldered its way through the white hot pain that was rendering the Captain’s thoughts numb. _That was the last time._

Without Peter beside him, the Captain was surrounded by silence, with nothing but his laboured breathes filling the air. He could barely breathe, barely think, barely feel.

_Hold on._

He could hear the distant footsteps of Peter pounding across the floorboards, the clatter of the telephone as the man wrenched it from the handle. 

_Hold on._

The Captain’s vision swam, black dots permeating his vision. 

_Hold on._

Peter’s voice was carrying up through the house as he spoke frantically into the receiver. 

“Ambulance- please- a man’s having a heart attack, we need help NOW-“

The Captain’s chest twisted a final time, igniting every nerve in a burning pain. 

_Hold on._

“We’re at The Button House- yes, in Surrey…”

_I can’t._

 

-

 

“…Yes- YES- the temporary lodgings,”

It felt like a great punch in the gut, a fist of force that slammed the Captain back into consciousness. His body jerked horribly, head smacking into the wooden floor as the air was wrenched from his lungs.

“The Forty Seventh Infantry,” Peter’s stricken voice continued from below, “Captain Arthur Wheeler,” 

The Captain sucked in a greedy breath of air, pressing shaking fingers to his throat as he harshly gasped for oxygen. 

It took him a moment to place himself again, and a moment longer to realise with a great rush of relief that the pain had subsided. His vision was clear, his chest no longer burned – as quickly as the agony had appeared, it had vanished, without a shred of evidence left behind. 

With laboured breaths he pushed himself to a seating position, bringing a hand to his head. He had been so sure that he was dying, and yet there he was, sitting upright as if some kind of miracle had been performed. He had brushed hands with Death, and walked away scot free. 

Still unsteady, he grabbed the banister and pulled himself to his feet. He could hear Peter thanking the operator on the other end of the telephone, followed by the distinct sound of the receiver roughly clattering back into place. The thought came that he should probably tell him it was a false alarm, or else it would make for a _very_ awkward conversation with the Doctor.

He turned to pick up his cane so he could set off after the man and laid his eyes upon a sight that made his blood run cold.

Where he had been lying moments ago, was a body. _His body_ , with a face blotched red and eyes staring glassily at the ceiling above him. 

The Captain stared, frozen, in utmost horror. All colour drained from his face as every thought stopped dead in its tracks.

He couldn’t even begin to comprehend what this could mean. 

The sound of feet pounding up the stairs broke the Captain from his trance, and pure, unwavering horror hit like a train. 

Peter, the thought came to him in a moment of blind panic, Peter would know what to do. 

Trembling with a terrified adrenaline, he spun on his heel to face the other man as he sprinted up the stairs. Peter was grey with fear, brow plastered with sweat as he reached the top. 

“Peter,” the Captain uttered, voice shaking, “What’s going on-“

His sentence was caught in a choke as Peter raced straight through him, his words falling on entirely dead ears. The Captain stumbled backwards, stomach lurching as Peter spoke, 

“Arthur?” 

For one cruel second the Captain believed he had felt the same wave of nausea. But when he turned, he knew he could not be more wrong.

“ARTHUR?” Peter repeated, louder and more desperate this time as he dropped to his knees beside the Captain's lifeless body and began to search frantically for a pulse, muttering a string of incessant, “No, no, no, no, no,”, hands flitting about in panic. 

“Peter?” the Captain tried again, voice growing thick with despair as he watched the awful scene.

Again, Peter continued as if the Captain had not said a thing, “Don’t do this to me Arthur,” he spoke, fumbling at his neck for a pulse as tears slid rapidly down his face, “Arthur, please- PLEASE,”

“Peter-“ the Captain said, voice cracking as his fate began to reveal itself before his very eyes. 

His breath hitched as Peter began to sob, pressing his forehead against the Captain’s, hands cradling his empty face. 

“Shouldn’t watch,” a voice came from beside him, sending the Captain careening to one side, smacking into the banister in fright. 

Before him stood a man covered head to toe in dirt and grime, hair long and matted, wrapped in a great heavy fur. He looked at him with understanding eyes, pity awash over his simple face.

“Hurts,” he grunted, “Too painful,”

The Captain stared, aghast at what he was seeing, “Who are you?” he demanded through his tears, the accompanying cries of Peter making it difficult to focus, “What’s- what’s happened to me?!”

The stranger blinked, unphased by what was happening at his feet, “Come,” he said calmly,

The Captain shook his head, “I’m not leaving him,” he said forcefully, his voice swinging dangerously as he tried to hold back a sob,

“You dead,” the man said gruffly. He gestured at Peter on the floor, weeping into the Captain’s hair, “Can’t see you,”

“You’re lying,” the Captain said with a shaking tone as he pressed himself further against the banister, “That can’t be true,” 

The man looked on in sympathy. His eyes were old and wise, despite his basic English. He took a gnarled hand and lifted it to his own chest, pressing on his furs with an open palm. He nodded at the Captain to do the same. “Feel,” he instructed. 

The Captain looked to his lifeless body, Peter laying heartbroken beside him. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be real. 

Numb with shock, he could barely feel the tears on his face as he raised a shaking hand and pressed it on the breast of his uniform. 

His chest lay still, silent and cold. There was no heartbeat at all. 

The Captain choked back a gasp, fingers curling into his jacket. Pure, unadulterated grief blossomed in the place where his heartbeat should have been, so strong that it could have brought him to his knees. 

“Come,” the man said again, bringing the Captain’s eyes back to him, “Meet others,”

“Others?” the Captain repeated hoarsely, brain so numb with shock he could barely process what was being said, 

The man nodded, “Come,” he said, taking a step back as if to leave. 

The Captain glanced at Peter, every cell in him aching to reach out and hold the grieving man close. He loved him more than he could ever say. He had his chance to tell him, and he had walked away instead. 

There would be no chance to tell him again.

The stranger looked at him warily, the Captain distinctly aware of him waiting to see his next move. 

Whoever he was, whoever these others were, the Captain could not let them see him like this again. 

He sniffed and scrubbed at his tear stained face, straightening his back as he had always been trained to. He was a Captain. He had to act like such. 

Swallowing against the lump in his throat, resolutely quenching every desire he had to break apart, he turned the man. 

“Alright,” he said, voice still weak, but firm. “Lead the way,”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in the environment the Captain was living in at the time, I would suggest looking into Alan Turing - a British man who managed to decipher Nazi code. 
> 
> He was instrumental in the ending of the second world war and saved millions of lives in the process - but was convicted as a gay man in the late 40's, publicly ridiculed, and forced to under hormone treatment, leaving him impotent and severely depressed. He committed suicide in 1954 as a direct result of his punishments.
> 
> Unfortunately, the Captain did not live in a happy time, and I think, for the sake of Alan Turing and all the others who suffered the same fate, it is important that we remember that.
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed everyone, feel free to leave a comment or kudos if you liked it. Bring on season 2!


End file.
